


An end to our story

by Story_Dragon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, M/M, bagginshield
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Story_Dragon/pseuds/Story_Dragon
Summary: Though he's lived a rather nice life, Bilbo's never been truly happy since Thorin died. This is how they finally meet again.Also know as: Another cheesy afterlife reunion fic. (Now with some plot!)It's better than the summary I promise.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teaDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaDragon/gifts).



> Alright. Before we get started here I just wanted so say that this might not be 100% accurate to the book, especially what with dialogue and whatnot. This is intentional. And it's just fanfiction.  
> Hope you like it!

“I’ve thought up an ending for my book.” Bilbo turned and looked at Gandalf with a soft, bittersweet smile. “And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days.”

“And I’m sure you will my dear friend.” Said Gandalf.

He probably meant to be reassuring, comforting or something along those lines. It didn’t work, because no matter how much he wanted it to be true, Bilbo knew that the phrase would only ever serve as an end to his book, nothing more. It could never be fully true, because Bilbo could never be fully happy. Not since that day…

 

_“Thorin! Answer me!” Bilbo sobbed “Stay with me, please!”_

_“My dear hobbit…” Thorin smiled up at Bilbo, the edges of his mouth red with blood. Blood poured out of various wounds, and Bilbo couldn’t tell what blood was Thorin’s and what was orc blood but there was so much of it, too much._

_At the end of the day, Bilbo was only a hobbit, dragged along on an adventure far bigger than he’d ever thought possible. And Thorin…_

_Thorin had scared him at first, and had come off as unfriendly. He clearly hadn’t trusted or liked Bilbo. Then something changed. Slowly, at first, they had become friends, tentatively reaching out to each other and talking late into the night._

_Bilbo was only a hobbit, but Thorin kept him going, gave him courage and hope to carry on, let him find a little happiness in horrid conditions._

_And now he was dying. Thorin, who had always seemed so strong, so indomitable, was dying. Bilbo tried, franticly to slow the blood that was pouring from his beautiful, strong body, but Thorin pushed his hands away._

_“There’s nothing you can do.” He croaked. “Bilbo… Bilbo I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything. For bringing you here. For the whole business with the Arkenstone. For-“_

_“Shhhhh.” Bilbo cut him off. “Save your strength and stay alive! Please, try. For me. Please Thorin, you have to live!”_

_Thorin, who now lay in a pool of blood, Thorin, who had taught him that there was more to life than living a respectable, comfortable life, Thorin, who he’d only just realised he loved. How could he be dying?_

_“There must be something I can do!” Said Bilbo, his tears flowing freely._

_“Live a long happy life. Remember me, but don’t grieve for too long. Go back home and plant the acorn you showed me. Live.”_

_His words faded out, into harsh, panting breaths._

_“Please Thorin…” Bilbo pleaded uselessly, still denying the inevitable. “I love you.”_

_He’d never said that before, and maybe now wasn’t the best time but it was now or never._

_The dwarf gave one last smile, replied, so faintly that Bilbo almost missed it;_

_“I love you to my burglar.”_

               

                The years had gone by, seasons passing and returning many times over. Bilbo had returned to the Shire, and lived a relatively happy life. He had raised Frodo, and the young boy had done much to ease the hole in his chest left by the deaths of Fili, Kili, and Thorin. Still, happily ever after was a great ending to his book, but Bilbo wasn’t sure it fit his life quite as well. There was a good deal that he never wrote in that book…

He would go see Dale, Erebor and the Misty Mountains one more time. Then he would rest in Rivendell, for as long as he felt like it. He would live.

                As the years passed among the elves, Bilbo grew old. Not only in years, as he had in the shire, but he truly felt himself getting old. He no longer felt thin and stretched as he had, but now he took nap every day, and walked slower.

_I suppose it had to happen sometime. And I have grown old far more gracefully than most._

Still, it irked Bilbo that he sometime required help doing thing he used to do without question.

He often spent long hours in the hall of fire, pouring over old tomes and composing poetry. It was here Frodo found him, one fall day. Out of everything he had left behind on coming to Rivendell, he had missed Frodo the most. More even, than his old ring. Strange that it had turned out to be such an evil item. What a terrible burden for Frodo to bear!

That was the worst part of getting old. Had he been able, he would have offered to take the ring to Mordor himself.

Bilbo had taken his last journey.

Valinor was beautiful. It had anything an elf could wish for; or a hobbit for that matter. It had amazing food, lodging, and forests and meadows as far as the eye could see. Yet for all it’s splendour Bilbo knew he’d never be fully content in Valinor. He’d never be fully content anywhere, and he never had been, not since that goddamned adventure so long ago that he couldn’t regret if he tried.

_Thorin… I planted the oak seed in the Shire. I told you it was to remember the journey, the adventures we had and the troubles we faced together, as a company. I was lying._

_It was to remember you._

                Bilbo knew he was old. Heck, he was the oldest hobbit ever by this point, having surpassed the old Took at last. And he’d be the last to deny that his time was running out. But while he was here he was going to make the best of his time in Valinor. Here he had countless books, so many more than there had been in Rivendell. He could nap whenever he wanted, which was often, and no one would disturb him. Eventually he settled into a pleasant routine, where he would wake early, eat breakfast, and head to the library. He would read until lunch, where he might eat, or not depending on how he was feeling. Sometimes he would spend time with Frodo around noon. Then he would nap, for he was inevitably tired by this point, until dinner, where he would make his slow way down to the main dining hall, and he would talk with the elves. After dinner he might stay for a few songs before retiring for the night.

                One day, as Frodo came in to wake his Uncle up for dinner, he found that Bilbo wasn’t in his room opposite the library. Not overly concerned, he went to check if Bilbo had fallen asleep over his book in the library again. He found the old hobbit slumped over a book, as expected. Only when Frodo went to wake him up, he was stone cold.

Bilbo had passed on.

 

Bilbo awoke, face down on what seemed to be some sort of… wooden floor? Stone? He wasn’t sure. He opened his eyes, and confirmed his guess. It was wood. Despite the unfamiliar setting, Bilbo wasn’t overly worried. There were no orcs on Valinor, nor any foul creatures at all. So he took his time waking up, until his sleep-addled mind registered the voices around him. For one thing, he could hear them as clear as he ever had, before his hearing had started to go. And two, they weren’t elven voices.

Bilbo rolled around, and found himself in what seemed to be some sort of hobbit hole, surrounded by hobbits.

_How? Why? What is going on here!?_

Suddenly a face came into view that made him gasp in surprise. Bilbo’s mother helped him up, and hugged him fiercely.

“I’ve missed you m’boy.” She muttered into his ear.

“I’m dead.” Said Bilbo. “Aren’t I?”

“Yes.” She replied. “You are”

The realisation didn’t hurt as much as Bilbo had expected. In fact, the whole dying thing didn’t hurt at all. He’d always imagined death so much that it had started to feel more like a memory, and he almost felt relieved that he was gone at last. Except he wasn’t gone, really. He was here. Wherever here was.

“Where are we?” Asked Bilbo, of the room in general. Bungo, his father, answered.

“Specifically? This is the Baggins family house. It’s quite big, don’t worry, they’ll be room enough for you. If you wanted to be more general, we’re in an afterlife of sorts, for hobbits. It’s rather like the shire, only bigger. This is where you’ll stay until the world’s end, but don’t worry yourself, there’s plenty to do.”

“And there’s plenty of books.” Belladonna added. “I know you’ve always liked books.

But Bilbo wasn’t listening. Had he read his father right? He’d have to stay here forever? And more importantly, was this afterlife truly for hobbits only?

_Surely not…! It couldn’t be… could it? True, hobbits don’t exactly like to interact with other races, but surely if you want to visit friends of yours that weren’t hobbits?_

A tinge of panic coloured his thoughts. He’d always imagined that he’d be able to reunite with ALL his dead friends once he passed on. Including Thorin and the deceased among his company!

But as he put his questions to the room he was met with the blank to confused stares of the varying family members around the room.

He knew what they were thinking. _Why would anyone want to interact with any of the big folk? Why would anyone want to leave?_

His mother was the first to answer. “As far as I know you can’t leave. But there really is plenty to occupy yourself with here. And you don’t need to talk to other races if you want to learn about them. I know you’re curious but there are plenty of books!” Belladonna rushed to reassure him.

“Don’t worry!” One of the other hobbits came over to him. Bilbo thought it was his father’s mother, but he wasn’t entirely sure. “We wouldn’t allow anyone but hobbits in here! So don’t you go worrying about any big folk messing stuff up.”

That wasn’t what Bilbo had meant at all, but he let it slide. He couldn’t believe this. What about his dwarfish, elven and human friends? What about _Thorin_?

_Would he never see Thorin again?_

After a short but torturous period filled with pleasantries and introductions, Bilbo excused himself to go find himself a room, or rather, a part of the house. He had learned that what had been introduced as one hobbit hole, was rather more like several interconnected ones.

His house-finding had been more of an excuse to get away from all the extended family, and Bilbo sat down in the first abandoned room he found. He needed to think.

He’d always been acting upon the assumption that he would somehow see his dwarf friends- no, Thorin. This was about Thorin and though he’d love to see the others too, he didn’t need to try to fool himself. He’d been acting upon the assumption that he would see _Thorin_ again once he died. He’d been telling himself this for _81 years._

It seemed like all that Bilbo had been holding onto had crumbled. Here he was, in a place where he should find peace and solace and all that he could imagine was the endless years of socialising and acting perfectly happy when there was still that same piece missing.

_And he lived happily ever after… when will that ever be true? Never?_

With this thought Bilbo started crying, at first quietly, then sobbing into his hands.

 

It was here that Belladonna Took, Bilbo’s mother, found him a few hours later when she came looking for him.

Bilbo was fast asleep, tears traced down his face.

 

When Bilbo woke up he wasn’t confused as to where he was. Granted, this was only due to his half-asleep state, but didn’t freak out, sit bolt upright, or demand to know where he was and what happened. Instead he stretched, yawned, then opened his eyes and sat up. It was only when he saw his mother beside him that it occurred to him that something was weird.

Bilbo shook himself out. Ah yes, he was dead. That would explain it. Apparently you still had to sleep in the afterlife. Memories of yesterday, if it truly was yesterday, clouded his mind, but he pushed them away. That was too painful to think about right now. So he latched onto the first thing he could think of.

“Mom? Why are you here?” He paused a moment, then added. “Also, how did I get here? Where is here?”

“Always with the questions huh? Sometimes I feel like nothing has changed. Anyways, to answer your questions you’re in my room. I brought you here, because I saw you fell asleep and you don’t have your own bed.”

Bilbo thought she would stop there, but Belladonna was never one to beat around the bush. “What’s wrong?” She added, concerned, but in a voice that meant that he had to answer.

“Would you believe me if I said it was nothing?” Said Bilbo.

“Not now that you’ve said that. Get talking.”

He didn’t really feel like spilling his heart to his mother at that particular moment, but he knew her well enough to accept that he had no choice.

She was a good audience, and didn’t talk once through his explanation, about the quest, about Thorin, about everything. Only when he was done did she start talking.

“So. You fell in love with a dwarf. Who died. And now you’re upset because you can’t see him.” She neither accepted nor ridiculed him, she simply stated the facts.

“Yes” Said Bilbo quietly. “I know it sounds silly but-“

“It’s not silly.” She smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair. “Bilbo, I know you were taught to be a nice, respectable, non-adventurous Baggins, but you must remember, I’m a Took. You we’re bound to do something crazy, it’s in your blood.”

“But what now? I’m here now, and I can’t leave. It’s hopeless!” Bilbo wiped furiously at his eyes, trying not to cry again. He hadn’t cried in years, and now he was practically a living waterfall!

Belladonna just smiled.

“My son, you helped defeat a dragon. I’m sure if anyone can find a way, you can. Just don’t give up here.”

With a start, Bilbo realised the truth to her words. When had he ever been one to give up? Well. There was that one time on the quest when he had tried to go home. And a few smaller instances.

Still, he counted those among his greatest mistakes, and damned if he was going to make that mistake again.

Bilbo Baggins was _not_ a quitter.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry, it doesn't end there. There will be at least one more chapter, hopefully published before this Christmas.   
> I'm sorry if some of it was a bit cheesy...   
> Feedback would be great, getting little to no feedback after writing a fic is rather like preforming a piece of music, and when you're done a few people clap, and everyone else just... sits there. Staring at you. Or walks out.  
> Okay that's a little bit over dramatic but if you have the time in your day to read by story (or you're making the time by procrastinating) than you have time to leave a short comment.  
> Sorry this note was so long, I talk to much. Hope you like the story so far!  
> Happy Holidays!  
> -Glorestor


End file.
